Does My Hair Look Too Wild?

"It looks like you should have a cat under each arm."

Selective Perceptions

Her: "I try to pretend that urinals don't exist."

Carmel-by-the-Sea

My random old man voice: "Let us go make out on the beach at sunset!"
Her: "I love that you chose his voice for that."
"Whose voice?"
"Sean Connery."

On Loan

On travel, working from the hotel room.

"Crud, my calculator died."
The Wife: "What kind of batteries?"
"Three triple-A."
"I have four, but I'll need them back later tonight."

Perception

Me, to the Girl: "Stop whining at me!"

The Wife: "You need to talk to her like she's a woman."

"I am."

My Stupid Small-Town Upbringing

Her: "Remember in high school when all the girls would dye their pubes, like, bright pink or red and then run around showing everybody?"

"No, I do not."

What's In Your "Head"?

She's listening to Miser's Zombie:

"We should add this to our Angry Sex mix."

You Heard Me

"How's your wife doing?"

"She pees and cries a lot. That's how she is."

Subliminal Nerd

The perfect domestic scene: The Wife, in the kitchen, making French Toast and humming...the Imperial March.

Fatty, Fatty, Two by Four

"This shit's low-fat!"

"Eh?"

"I thought it was non-fat!"

Porking Pens, Banging Bics, Ultra-Fine Flings, Writing Utensils Gone Wild

The secret to pen reproduction:

I can never, ever find a pen when I need one in the moment.

If, however, I remove a pen from atop my keyboard -- always in that empty space between the function keys and the number row -- and set it directly next to the keyboard, an entirely new pen will magically appear in the very same spot, the very next day, only to be set next to its friend next to my keyboard.

There are, at this very moment right now synchronize-your-watches-aaand-mark, exactly six writing utensils next to my keyboard. One black, one red, one orange Crayola washable, and three pencils.

Women!

Whoopie, Gifts!

"I'm really sick, but we can have birthday while-I-lay-there sex."

Not Gonna Make It

Taking the pants off for bed, Take 1. The finite-depth FIFO.

"Oh, Honey, I desperately need tampons. Can you go out and get some?"

"Ugh, ok. Tampons."

"Here, use this cash. And get yourself something, too."

"Tampons. Cash. Something for me."

"And pick up the photos for school while you're there."

"Tampons. Cash. Something for me. Photos for school."

"Oh! And Hot Tomales!"

"Cash. Something for me. Photos for school. Hot Tomales. No problem, I'll be right back."

To the store!

Taking the pants off for bed, Take 2. Slightly later than I intended.

"Good night, Honey. Oh, where did you put the tampons?"

"The wha-? DAMMIT!"

To the store!

Hm. Which kind did she want? I thought she said this one...but I thought she wanted that color. FUKIT, I'm buying them all.

Taking off the pants for bed, Take 3. Not going to the office early, after all.

"Oh, thank you, Honey. I love you."

"We won't need tampons for a while. I stocked up."

"What do you mean?"
"Nothing. Good night."

Oh My

Awesome recent episodes:

(It may be that certain people are putting me on, but a little ignorance never hurt anyone)

Me, at a party: "So, what are you girls chattering about?"

"We were just comparing notes on our lesbian tendencies."

Me, at home: "Who was that on the phone?"

"Soandso. She likes to call me while she's in a bubble bath and ask if I can hear her splashing around."

Opportunities

Me, staring into the fridge: "I can't find the cheese."

She reaches past me and pulls out the cheese.

"You'd better hope this engineering gig pans out, because you'll never make it as a domestic goddess."

Just Trying

The Wife meets me in the driveway and immediately hands The Girl off to me.

Exasperated tone: "She wants you. I want her to want you."

Me, singing along: "Do you...need her to need me?"

But sometimes my cheerful demeanor isn't contagious.

Piercee-s, Or...How I Got My Feminine Ch'i

So, the family was getting some body piercings, just casually. "What shall we do with our Sunday?" "Freak out the squares?" "Ok. I'll load up the kids."

The Wife was up first, laying on the table, the dude flexing arms as he jammed this three-inch, heavy gauge bar through her. For the record, it counts as piercings twelve AND thirteen according to her. Squeezing out a couple big-headed kiddos apparently makes it easier to man up to this sort of thing.

Then I was up. I made some nervous chit-chat while our overly-decorated guy laid out some implements of pain and a cotton swab. "It definitely has a Feminine Ch'i, and that's just awesome," he opined. "I would totally get one, but my anatomy isn't right."

Suuure.

Lovelace Doctors: Well, What *Do* You Do, Then?

At the LOVELACE WOMENS' HOSPITAL. Let me emphasise that. The Lovelace...WOMENS' HOSPITAL. The stage is set....

Lovelace Patient: "I have a question about breast-feeding, can I talk to an OB or a Lactation Consultant?"

Lovelace Professional: "Erm...we're not sure how to contact them."

Why Engineers are Smarter Than Lovelace Doctors

When probing someone's abdomen for tender spots, a patient reacts with "OWW."

An engineer would troubleshoot and find the cause.

A Lovelace doctor would say, "Oh, I'm sorry, I won't poke you there anymore," and leave the room.

True story (I have lots of these...it may be a new theme of mine....)

Dumb Shit We Sing To The Kids At Bedtime

Jam-mies. Jam-mies.

And I hope you like jammies too.

We're jammies, we're jammies, we're jammies, we're jammies.

Hope you like jammies too.